Our Civilization Is Still In A Middle

Shakespeare, I Come!

The Irish Are A Philosophic As Well As A Practical Race. Their First And Strongest Impulse Is To Make The Best Of A Bad Situation To Put A Better Face On Evil Than It Normally Wears.

The Strong Man Wants To Be Allowed To Do; The Little Man Wants To Stop Him.

Words Are But The Vague Shadows Of The Volumes We Mean. Little Audible Links, They Are, Chaining Together Great Inaudible Feelings And Purposes.

Your Writer, Your Scientist, Your Chief Official, All Have Lost The Power To Revive The Early Illusion Concerning Fame And High Place. Their Beauty And Delight Is Like The Mirage In The Heavens, Only Plain To The Eye Outside; Within Is Nothing.